


Muses

by Era_Penn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Angst, Comfort, Crack, Curses, Established Relationship, Fluff, Goddesses, Gods, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oh Tony, Painting, Roman AU, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Tony Feels, True Love, curse, idek, implied sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2410835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Anthony Starkson, cousin of the great Caesar, was cursed by the goddess Venus never to see his true reflection, but instead a hideous monster.</p><p>Steven Rogerson, who holds great glory on the battlefield, wants to show him just how beautiful he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paint

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tumblr Post 1](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/77087) by captaintonys_tark. 



Tony shifted.

“Hold still,” Steve said, glowering slightly. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“I don’t get it. Why do you want to paint _me_?”

The genius inventor really didn’t get it. “Sorry, my lord, but you’ll just have to wait for the finished product to see.”

Lord Anthony, Caesar's favorite metalworker (and, rumor had it, cousin), was stunningly gorgeous. He had beautiful brown hair and delicious chocolate eyes, but he couldn’t seem to see it. He refused to let any mirrors into his home, tended to shy away even from glass. When Steven, who held high glory, had begun to court him, the lord had been entirely confused. It had upset Steve to realize that Tony thought so little of himself that even as a Lord he did not believe Steve, a mere warrior (though a good one) would give him the light of day.

Rumor had it that at his birth his father Lord Howard had been infuriated, believing him to be the son of another man or god, and called on fair Venus his mother to never allow the young boy to see his true reflection. To spite his adulterous wife, Vulcan had in turn granted Tony high favor, and the man was renowned throughout Rome for his metalwork and inventions. Vulcan had also saved him from a blow which shattered a sword in his heart, teaching him how to create a new one. Some believed perhaps Howard had been right and Tony was the fire god’s.

“Well… if you’re sure…”

Steve rolled his eyes as he finished setting his easel and paints. Art was an unusual habit for a warrior, who generally devoted their lives to Minerva or Mars. Minerva he loved well, but Mars he thought a bit of a bully. However, the Muses often blessed him with the ability to portray well what he saw. “Oh Muses, guide my hands today, that I may accurately portray the beauty before me,” he said under his breath, lifting his brush. Tony was fidgeting again, and instead of calling him ‘my lord’ again, Steve pulled out his secret weapon.

“Tony, hold still.”

Tony sighed despite the blush that crept up over his cheeks at the informal name, and did so (mostly), still looking entirely uncertain and nervous. Steve hated that. After so many months, almost a full year, Tony still looked often like he expected Steve to leave.

The pure white toga Tony wore draped elegantly over his body as he lounged like a king on his throne. His golden sandals matched the thin gold and ruby jewelry he wore, crafted himself and gifted from suitors - most, Tony had admitted one night, drunk, after his money or skill.

Or beauty, Steve had hastened to add, but Tony laughed.

Through all the finery shone the lightning blue of his rebuilt heart, seated in his chest. Tony was incredibly self-conscious of the device, horrified by his scarred chest. He tried to hide it, early in their relationship; Steve had eventually gotten sick of it and kissed away the fear. The true challenge of painting Tony lay in those chocolate eyes that seemed to flicker with some inner fire, some trick of the light making them smolder beautifully.

“I am not some beautiful woman or grand warrior the Muses wish the world to know,” Tony mumbled. “I don’t get it.”

Good, Steve thought. I want you all to myself. “But you are beautiful. You must be cursed or something not to see it.” Steve insisted. Tony’s lips thinned, but he stayed still.

They sat for hours, until the sun had moved too far for Steve to continue. He covered the painting, prowling forward to where the engineer dozed lazily like a cat in the sun - the only reason he had consented to remain at rest so long, to take a break from pushing himself so hard. Steve leaned in close and pressed their lips together. “Off to bed, my Lord.” he teased.

“Don’t wanna,” Tony huffed. Steve nearly laughed out loud - it had taken a long time to talk Tony into sitting in the first place. Neatly, he scooped the genius up, ignoring mumbled protests, and took him to bed.

* * *

Steve eyed what he had managed to finish of the painting the week before. He started with the heart and worked outwards, though he had captured Tony’s lazy cat expression as he dozed in the sun. Good thing, too, because Tony looked like he was bursting out of his skin.

“If you sit well again I’ll be done today,” Steve said. It was sort of cheating; if it meant not having to do this again, Tony would sit as long as necessary today. Saying a prayer to the Muses, Steve began again, quickly lost to the work. He finished just as the sun began to sink below the horizon in a beautiful display of gold and red, and again scooped Tony from his seat and took him to bed. 

* * *

Dawn broke the horizon, and Steve and Tony stole from the bed. Steve led him to the painting, where Tony hesitated. “Look,” Steve murmured.

And Tony did.


	2. Curse

Anthony Starkson, blessed by Vulcan and cursed by Aphrodite, was ugly. In every mirror he had seen since his childhood, he saw the monster staring back. And he had seen a lot of mirrors. Howard made sure of that.

Sometimes when he didn’t do well enough, his punishment was to stare into a mirror for hours and listen to his mother and father’s steady streams of insults.

Monster. Horror. Disfigured. Idiot. Fool.

Cousin Ceasar tried to convince him otherwise, but Tony could not deny the truth of his own eyes, and eventually his cousins Ceasar, Rhodey, and Pepper (daughter of Minerva) all stopped trying. The moment Howard and Maria had died, he had removed every mirror from his home - violently. Recently he had found this new group of people, and they too tried to convince him. Bruce (cursed by Neptune) stated it must be some trick of the gods. Clint informed him that he had the best eyes around, being the son of Apollo and all, and told him he was sexy as Styx. Natasha (also a daughter of Minerva) looked furious whenever he said something self-deprecating about his appearance. Darcy, Jane, Thor son of Jupiter - all of them tried to convince him he looked fine. Even Phil did.

And then there was Steve.

Tony didn’t understand where all these people were coming from, but it was Steve who bewildered him. He was the finest soldier of the Roman army, well known for his dedication to public duty and his gentle soul off the battlefield. When his brother James had fallen, the entire nation grieved with him. He lived and breathed the Roman ideal.

So why in Pluto’s realm was Steve courting Vulcan-ugly, useless, unintelligent, waste-of-space coward Anthony Edward Starkson?

“Hold still, I haven’t even started yet.”

Tony glowered slightly. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to paint _me_?”

“Sorry, my lord, but you’ll just have to wait for the finished product to see.”

Tony grumbled under his breath as Steve set up and said a prayer to the Muses. He didn’t want to see. He had never allowed his portrait to be painted before, and the only reason - the only reason he allowed it now was…

Well, it was Steve. He had so little to offer the other man, how could he deny him this? What if it made him leave? He didn’t want that. Tony had grown attached to this strange band of people gathered around him.

“Well… if you’re sure…” Tony said, hesitantly, because against all odds even after the betrayal of Obadiah, he trusted this man.

He trusted Steve. 

He didn’t think Steve had heard him, with the long silence that followed, and moved around again without realizing it until Steve spoke.

“Tony, hold still.”

He felt himself blush. It was rare that anyone call him by his given name before. Now there were all these people around who did. On Steve’s lips it sounded like the sea. He held still with a sigh, but managed to be quiet only a short while before he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I am not some beautiful woman or grand warrior the Muses wish the world to know,” Tony said, resigned. “I don’t get it.”

“Good,” Steve said as though not realizing he had spoken aloud. “I want you all to myself.” A jolt of electricity ran down Tony’s spine, and after a moment of silence Steve spoke again, this time looking Tony in the eye. “But you are beautiful. You must be cursed or something not to see it.”

Tony almost flinched. When he was fourteen, he had met the goddess Venus. She had sneered at him, and laughed. “Why, you are the Stark boy! Howard’s son!”

“Yes’m,” he’d mumbled, eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry for marring your presence Lady.”

Hard fingers forced his face up into cold eyes. “Yes, that curse is still holding strong.”

“C-curse, Lady?”

“Indeed. It can only be broken if someone convinces you that you are beautiful. Oh, I have such plans!”

Tony stared in confusion. “But I am not beautiful. I am a monster.” He had said.

She had laughed. “Yes indeed, a destroyer of love, of my dear son Howard’s love no less. And still my husband goes behind my back and grants you gifts of skill and knowledge!” she spat, vicious. “Oh, how many suitors you shall have after only your skill. Leave my sight, monster.”

And Tony had. He had believed every word she spoke, and turned away suitor after suitor. He let Tiberius get close - but that had not ended well. He thought Ceasar and Rhodey may have killed the other man, but he wasn’t entirely sure and he never asked.

The sun was warm on his skin, and he had forgotten Steve almost entirely, so he settled back in the chair a little more comfortably and dozed, trying to force his mind to other things, like inventing calculus and a chariot pulled by winged horses so grand it was fitting only as a gift to the gods themselves.

For a second, he could pretend that Steve would never tire of his ugly monstrousness and stay for as long as the gods allowed.

Soft lips on his lifted him from his doze. “Time for bed, my Lord,” Steve said.

“Don’ wanna.” Tony sulked. He was comfortable and warm and above him there was a Steve. He felt he would be content to sit here forever.

Tony could feel Steve’s silent chuckle as the soldier scooped him up, which honestly Tony was okay with that because he still didn’t have to move and he was surrounded not only by warmth but by Steve’s warmth.

* * *

Clint had cottoned on quickly to what Steve was trying to do. “Well…” Steve had said sheepishly at one point, “If the rumors are true, we just have to show him his appearance without the use of a mirror.”

“A portrait,” Clint said, realizing. “I’ll make some offerings.”

And offerings he made. He got the others in on it. As he offered the best of his flocks to Apollo and the Muses, Natasha made offerings to Minerva asking the aid of her wisdom to fall upon Steve. Bruce, Darcy, Jane and Phil made offerings to the Muses as well, and Thor found and killed a great monster for his father Zeus. They all prayed to their individual house gods, their personal deities. They did not know if it worked. They only hoped.

It was about time Tony got a little happiness.

* * *

When Steve asked him to sit again a week later, Tony was unprepared. He was having a bad day and the idea of someone staring at him for that long, perceiving his hideousness that closely… it just made it worse.

But that panic that if he refused Steve might leave rose up again, and he sat. Twitchy, bouncing out of his own skin, he sat. “If you sit well again, I’ll be done today,” Steve said. The idea of never having to sit again made Tony relax a little. He could do this, for Steve. He sat for a long time, trying desperately not to think about what was being painted. He relaxed a little when he found himself distracted by thoughts of some calculations he had been working on the day before.

“Finished.” Steve said, and Tony blinked sleepily. He smiled and curled into the warmth of the other man when he scooped him up once again. 

“You smell good,” he murmured, because if this was the last night he got to spend with the soldier (surely after staring at him for so long he realized Tony was a monster) he was going to make sure Steve knew he was loved, and he was going to enjoy it. He felt complete, utter relief fill him when he realized they were moving towards the bedroom, not the painting left uncovered to dry.

“And you smell like metal. I like it.” Steve said. Tony snorted slightly, barely stirring as Steve placed him on his feet and began undoing belts and ties to slip his toga from his body. Tony steps free of the clothing and right back into Steve’s arms. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asked, a little confused. Tony didn’t blame him - he didn’t often initiate contact.

“Nothing.” Tony muttered, and this time it was Steve who snorted, stepping back to strip off his own clothes before returning to hug Tony again, tugging him to the bed. Tony lay with his arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, face pressed to his chest, breathing in the warm scent of charcoal, paint, and sea air.

“Beautiful,” Steve breathed, and Tony looked up to find the source of the heart-felt declaration, only to find those lovely blue eyes fixed on him. Instantly he blushed and buried his face back into Steve’s neck.

“Not,” he muttered, and Steve sighed, pressing kisses to his hair, one huge warm hand settling on his lower back.

“Beautiful, beautiful and mine.”

Tony melted beneath the steady hands of an artist, and fell asleep curled up in the broad arms of a soldier.


	3. Chapter 3

As dawn broke over the world, Tony slipped sleepily from bed as Steve tugged on his hand. He found himself led towards the painting, and closed his eyes.

“Look,” Steve said, and Tony did.

The painting was full of rich color only heightened by the sunrise filling the room. It was a stunning portrait of a man. He had rich brown locks slightly mussed by wind, and limbs draped along the small couch as though the man was himself a king, sitting before his courtiers. Lazy, half-lidded brown eyes set like chocolate in a tan face, lit as though they held fire in their depths. A lean, muscled arm rested over a knee; the other hung off the couch and brushed on the stone floor, the man seemingly lost in thought; a cat lounging in the sun. He was dressed as richly as a prince, all white and gold against a background of red and gold that paled in comparison. Nestled in the center of his chest glowed a brilliant pale blue light, casting entrancing shadows over skin and cloth, catching and reflecting on gold. The man in this portrait looked like a god.

Tears welled up in Tony’s eyes. “This is…”

“This is you, Tony. Beneath the curse, this is you.”

This was how Steve saw him? 

“An excellent likeness,” murmured a voice from behind him. Tony looked up into the sharp eyes of Steve’s closest friends, one Natasha. Tony’s closest friend and attendant Bruce leaned in the door behind her.

“It’s a perfect match,” the man agreed, coming in for a closer look.

“‘waz goin’ on?” the voice came from the terrace, accompanied by a yawn, and Tony discovered his friend Clint, fallen asleep - again - in the hammock. Peering through the light air, the archer’s jaw dropped. “Muses bless, that’s good,” he cursed.

Tony tried to back away, only to run right into a massive, lumbering form. “My friends!” Thor boomed. “What brings us together this morn?”

“Steve finished it,” replied Natasha simply.

“Friend Tony! It is a near perfect match!” 

Tony took a deep breath, looking at all of them looking at the painting. They sounded _genuine_. Slowly they dispersed with various excuses, leaving Steve and Tony once more alone in the room. Tony stared at the ground, still seeing the painting before his eyes. That couldn’t possibly be him; the royal, regal figure in the painting hadn’t any flaws (except, perhaps, cattiness). 

Steve slipped a hand in his and tilted his chin up with the other. “Happy anniversary, beautiful,” he whispered. Tony felt his eyes fill with tears. 

“Gods I love you,” he breathed. Steve’s jaw dropped open in front of him, and then smiled, wide and real and _Steve_.

“I love you too.”

And Tony believed him, looking at the painting again. It didn’t fix everything; years of neglect and abuse and self-loathing would take years to repair. But - for the first time in his life - Tony was granted a glimpse at the world through his curse.

It was beautiful. _He_ was beautiful.

“We should get a mirror.”

Steve’s smile lit up the room. “Mhm,” he agreed, “and maybe a pair of rings.”

Tony let the tears fall, laughing and crying and agreeing, a steady litany of love and joy spilling from good lips onto a perfect jawline and catching in a sharp-edged goatee. The sun lit his face at the perfect angle.

* * *

Centuries passed. The tale of Anthony Starkson and Steve slipped and slithered through the cracks of history, transforming and changing but always, always, a tale of two beauties and a beast. Long after the gods were forgotten, their story lived in the dozens of paintings and sketches that were recovered from an ancient vault and revered as among the most beautiful of the time period.

Paintings of a man named Anthony Stark.


End file.
